


Glory and Gore

by felinedetached



Series: You can try and take us [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 13:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11829960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinedetached/pseuds/felinedetached
Summary: “Strider and Lalonde took the kill once more.”The whispers make their rounds, same as always. The Fae Siblings, Strider and Lalonde once again came home with blood on their hands. They were, once again, welcomed back as heroes. Once again, they returned to the queen and stood with an arrogance typical of Huntsmen.For Strider and Lalonde have always been the best, and there has never been a Hunt where they did not take the kill.---------You could try and take usBut we're the gladiatorsEveryone a ragerBut secretly they're saviorsGlory and gore go hand in handThat's why we're making headlinesYou could try and take usBut victory's contagious





	Glory and Gore

**Author's Note:**

> A Fae AU, inspired by listening to [Glory and Gore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOks2HArHf0) on repeat 300 times.

“Strider and Lalonde took the kill once more.”

 

The whispers make their rounds, same as always. The Fae Siblings, Strider and Lalonde once again came home with blood on their hands. They were, once again, welcomed back as heroes. Once again, they returned to the queen and stood with an arrogance typical of Huntsmen.

 

For Strider and Lalonde have always been the best, and there has never been a Hunt where they did not take the kill.

 

Rose Lalonde can only be described as ethereal. She’s both dark and light, a contradictory amalgamation that somehow fits. She stands in front of the queen with blood on her hands, bow strung, unused, over her back, and dual two-foot knitting needles dripping blood onto the floor from where they rest on her shoulder. Her eyes glow with the fire that comes with the adrenaline of the Hunt.

 

By her side, Dirk Strider stands with one hand on his sword. It rests in his scabbard, but the darkness of the leather gives hint of the blood still coating the blade. He’s just as ethereal as his sister, more sharp. His eyes are hidden, the pointy shaded glasses only adding to the sharp, dangerous vibe he throws in every direction.

 

Together, they are avoided. They could head the Hunt if they wished, but neither has ever tried to challenge Titania's Chosen. No one dares challenge them either, for they would take anyone in the ring and come out unharmed.

 

There are rumours that even Titania herself fears them.

 

They are congratulated, and dismissed. They’re both almost sarcastic in their thanks, turning as the sun lights up the sky behind Titania’s throne. Their exit is dramatic, almost a march, surveying everyone they pass with calculating gazes.

 

They cause chaos everywhere they go, adjourning to the tavern together. With every quiet laugh from Lalonde, every suppressed chuckle from Strider, the entire tavern tenses. They’re aware of it, no doubt, confirmed by a shark-like grin thrown at the room, painted black lips framing a glimpse of teeth that causes the entire room to shrink away. Strider seems almost amused by the response, allowing the room to glimpse his smirk before he hides it away again behind that ever-present mask of apathy.

 

Lalonde smirks with him, leaning over to whisper something in his ear. Those close enough to hear strained in silence, desperately wanting to know one secret about the two that they could perhaps use against them, but they strained in vain.

 

Lalonde told no secret, only stated what would be considered a fact in the world of the Fae.

 

“Glory and Gore go hand in hand, do they not?”

 

When they leave the tavern it is late in the morning. The sun is high in the sky, and the two siblings wander from the tavern almost seeming giddy. They had been drinking quite a lot, so, if anyone else, it would be unsurprising that they were giddy. But it’s Strider and Lalonde, and they’re never giddy. Their guard is never down, the Hunt having trained them into the best of the best.

 

 This moment is, of course, when they are faced by a challenger. The face is familiar - one of Strider’s old friends. Jake English is his name, and he earned the Favour of the Queen and left the Hunt.

 

“Dirk!” he calls, and both Strider and Lalonde snap to attention. “You’re still with the Hunt?” he asks, and the entire street goes silent.

 

“Yes,” Strider replies, voice sharp, “Why would I not be?”

 

“Haven’t you heard? We took the kill from last night’s Hunt,” Lalonde adds, her lips upturned in a smile. Her comment and that expression could be taken as bragging, but the true target of that comment wasn’t the street. It was English, and his face hardens in response.

 

“Do I presume you haven’t earned Her Majesty’s favour then?” He asks, and Strider and Lalonde both seem to come alive, every muscle tightening, hunting dogs with the scent of prey in their nostrils. “You must know that the Hunt is full of prisoners and those who have lost favour. Why do you remain?”

 

“Are you challenging us, English,” Strider asks quietly, his voice terse. The siblings were fiercely protective of the Hunt, and only an idiot would insult it in front of them. Most just assume that they love the thrill of the Hunt enough to ignore the degradation most Fae would feel in being assigned to it.

 

“I might be!” He responds. Foolish. They will slaughter him, as they slaughtered the others who were ignorant and cocky enough to challenge the Best the Hunt has to offer.

 

“May we see you in the arena?” Lalonde inquires, her smile gone and her voice holding a dangerous note. English simply nods, once, and leaves. The siblings straighten, all previous pretense of being tipsy and giggly gone in an instant. Their path clears instantly, anyone silly enough to be in the way now gone. The road to the arena is clear, and the fight that will ensue will no doubt go down in history.

 

Word spreads fast, and by the time Strider and Lalonde enter the arena, the stands are packed. English stands in the centre of the dusty open area, his chosen weapon in his hands.

 

A mortal gun.

 

Foolish, once again. Titania will congratulate them for English’s elimination, as Mortal Weapons of Iron and fire are hated in Faerieland.

 

Lalonde enters the arena with her dual wielded needles held loosely in her hands. Strider, of course, brings his sword to the mix. The three stand, two with close-combat weapons of steel, and one with a long range expeller of Iron.

 

With Iron’s fatal abilities when in contact with Fae, it seems obvious who would win. One would be foolish to believe in Strider and Lalonde when faced with an item of such obvious doom.

 

One would be foolish, unless they took into account the Hunting experience of the two English faces. Mortals often wield these weapons of doom and destruction, but Strider and Lalonde have yet to fall in a Hunt.

 

It started with the crack of a gun, and ended with the sickening yet distinct sound of metal slicing through flesh.

 

The fight was decided before it began. English had no chance.

 

With the blood of his once-best-friend splattered on his clothes and coating his sword, Strider turned to his sister. Here, the arena paused. The two seemed unsure what to do with themselves, a hesitation to their movements discernible to even the stands. Finally, as is polite, they bow to their Queen.

 

His voice raised to an unexpected level, Strider parroted what Lalonde had told him in that tavern, not very many hours ago.

 

“Glory and gore go hand in hand, do they not?”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I have a tumblr [@felinedetached](https://felinedetached.tumblr.com/), feel free to come and yell at me.


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